Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust
by Untamed Rosefire
Summary: What if Ingrid snapped? Alternate ending, 03x10


Ingrid Dracula had been at rock bottom before. Days ago, even. But her therapist had been helpful, if woefully ignorant. She had helped the vampires believe that life – or death – went on. The only way was up. In her ascent to return to her A-game however, Ingrid hadn't actually spared a thought to the possibility of her journey not being as smooth as she wanted it to. She hadn't factored in the chance that she'd be knocked back down again before she had fixed herself up, so when it happened, it hit her _hard._

She had always been a meticulous planner. Not a fan of a middle man or potential set-backs, instead preferring to just march on through whatever came up with a single-minded determinedness that was enviable amongst her peers. But failure had never been an option for Ingrid, and she had never considered not achieving it. So when she realised that she'd failed to fix herself as easily as she'd planned? Yeah, it hurt.

She could be forgiven for having assumed that she could click her fingers and make things better again. After all, insecurity had never had room in Ingrid's mind, so once she was in it's chokehold she was rendered rather helpless when it came to fighting it off. One slip. She'd had one slip. One moment of thinking like a breather of wondering if maybe she should just give up. Now, she realised, she was never really going to recover from it. It was like an invisible stake, slowly dusting her from the inside out.

When she had spun around to find Bertrand pinned against the wall by Vlad's powers, a stake in hand, it hadn't immediately clicked that she had been the intended target. When she had realised it, Ingrid had initially just assumed that Bertrand must have gone rogue or something, and decided to wipe out the family. Hey, it wasn't like he was the first to have gone down that path. But Ingrid had always been an intelligent girl – where on earth she inherited that from though is anyone's guess – and her smoky eyes had been quick to spot the shiny emblem on the stake marking it as a Van Helsing stake, and the gleam in her father's eye that signified fate swinging in his favour.

The sudden realisation made her feel sick. Vlad hadn't caught on, but Ingrid knew _exactly_ how her father functioned – she had spent years watching his every move and behaviour, trying to mould herself to what he wanted in a child. The situation reeked of his doing, and whilst Ingrid knew that her father was openly contemptuous when it came to his firstborn, she foolishly hadn't realised just how little regard he had for her.

Is that what she was, now? A pawn in one of his games? She was his _daughter!_ His _firstborn!_ Yet he was still more than willing to stake her should he see an opportunity to get closer with her brother? He was so eager to have her killed, and to even be there to watch it?

There was something delicate inside of Ingrid. Something fragile that she hadn't realised had existed. She couldn't define it with words, but whatever it was – it snapped. And Count Dracula was about to experience one hell of a whiplash.

"You planned this." She hissed at her father. Vlad's eyes widened, and he took a step back. True, he was now the dominant sibling, the heir, the one with the power. But stopping his heart hadn't made him as smart as Ingrid, and though he would never admit it, he often allowed her to cotton on to things for him, so he could follow along as fast as she could. The boy felt a anger and indignation building up in his chest as he willed the accusation to be untrue, but he knew his father and he knew Ingrid's logic was flawless.

"You... Were willing to be here and watch him stake me." She said. The three male vampires in the room remained silent, transfixed by this odd side of Ingrid, this emotional side that rarely if ever saw the light of day. "I'm your _daughter_!" she cried, stumbling back a little, not paying attention to her steps in her frantic examination of her father's face, begging him to deny what she was saying but knowing he wouldn't be able to.

"You... Truly don't care for me at all, do you?" Ingrid asked, voice wavering. For a moment she was almost like a breather – fallible, victim to emotions. Desperately, Ingrid clung to any part of her vampiric nature that she could, feeling her carefully composed mask splintering, tearing at the seams. What was the point? What was the fucking _point?_

Vlad had allowed Bertrand down at this point, distracted by his sister. She seized her opportunity, wheeling around and tearing the stake from the older vampire's hand and turning to face her father and Vlad again. The pair looked uneasy, and shifted into slightly defensive postures. A bitter laugh escaped Ingrid. Didn't they realised that she was too far gone to bother with an attempt at revenge? Mouth curving into a slightly manic smile, the vampires turned the stake inwards, to point at herself. Count's face relaxed immediately, but panic flared in Vlad's.

"Ingrid... Put the stake down. This isn't you." He warned softly. Who was this stranger controlling his sister? Ingrid wasn't crazy enough to pull a stunt like this. Evil plots? Yes, they were his sister through and through. But... Suicide? No, this had to be a ploy. But still, the point of the stake was setting him on edge.

"_How would you know?" _Ingrid screeched. "You left! You weren't there when I hit rock bottom!" Vlad gazed at her, opened mouthed and at a loss for words. Ingrid let out a small sob. "You left me out to burn! Why do you care?" she questioned. "I... I don't mean anything to anyone. You'd be better off creating your perfect world for breathers to live alongside us without me here to convince you otherwise." She said quietly.

"Put the stake down, Ingrid. Please." Vlad pleaded quietly. She did as he asked, allowing her arm to fall to her side, a tear escaping down her face. He relaxed, letting his guard down. Ingrid took her opportunity before he could fling her across the room to safety and moved with vampiric speed, driving the stake into her gut.

It may have been her imagination, but Ingrid thought she saw her father take a shocked step towards her before Vlad burst forward, bellowing a loud "No!"

She smiled.

And then she faded away into a million little pieces.


End file.
